


Heart

by talkingtothesky



Category: Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-28
Updated: 2010-10-28
Packaged: 2017-12-12 11:29:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/811085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/talkingtothesky/pseuds/talkingtothesky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set post 1x04, Warren is out of prison and exacts his revenge on Gene. This fic focuses on the aftermath of Gene’s ordeal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for references to past torture, and a couple of swearwords. Inspired by awabubbles' art [What Went Wrong?](http://lifein1973.livejournal.com/1990286.html)

 

Sam put his head in his hands, dizzy from exhaustion and shock. He took a few deep breaths, attempting to calm himself. It had been a long week, the longest of his life. But they’d found Gene alive and (more or less) intact. The crisis was over. Still, Sam couldn’t shake the feeling of dread that had permeated every minute of every day since Gene had gone missing.

 

Sam lifted his head again. He couldn’t let Gene out of his sight ever again, not for a second. He would not lose his Guv. Gene had always kept him fighting, kept his levels of responsiveness up on the monitors in 2006. Without him, Sam was worried he’d stop fighting. Stop fighting and they’d switch him off. The realisation hit him hard: he needed Gene in order to stay living.

 

Sam looked down at the figure on the bed, drugged up to the gills and spark out. The mountain of pillows propping him up meant that Gene was sleeping with his neck held at an odd angle. Rising from his seat and ignoring the sudden head rush that came with the motion, Sam removed one or two of the superfluous pillows, careful not to disturb any of the various tubes which ran from hospital instruments. Then lifting a hand to Gene’s jaw, he gently tilted Gene’s head so that his neck wouldn’t bother him later. Sam knew full well that, upon waking, Gene would have far worse pain to deal with than a crick in his neck, but if Sam could do one tiny thing to help, he would. Anything at all.

 

It was as he sat down again, thumb lingering momentarily at Gene’s chin before letting go, that he finally noticed it. Gene’s left wrist was almost as heavily bandaged as his chest, but spots of blood had begun to soak through the material. Worse, the spots seemed to join up to form two words. The first word was _Sam_ and the second was _Tyler_.

 

\---

 

In the subsequent weeks of his recovery, Gene did his best to avoid Sam no matter what. When he returned to work, this utter lack of communication between them made the team almost impossible to run. Gene’s refusal to be in the same room as him did nothing good for Sam’s already frayed nerves. But Sam worked tirelessly and was persistent. Any and every time he managed to get Gene on his own he would try to get him to open up about what had happened – not _why_ , Warren’s motives were clear – and asked about the message engraved into Gene’s wrist.

 

Every time Sam got a variation of response:

 

“Piss off, Tyler.”

 

“Get out of my sight.”

 

“You really don’t want to know.”

 

“I’m not ruddy talking about it”, to which Sam would respond: “Then I’ll wait. Until you’re ready.”

 

And he did wait. He watched as Gene painfully healed, became more like himself again, but allowing nobody near, accepting no help from anyone, especially not Sam. Sam blamed himself, of course, knew that it was only on his say-so after Joni’s death that Gene had arrested Warren. And then Warren had got out of prison and gone after Gene; most likely would have killed him if not for Sam bursting in: all guns blazing, just in time. Sam guessed Gene was ashamed: Sam had seen him at his weakest, gagged and bound and bloodied, that great gaping gash right across his chest…And Sam knew Gene blamed him too, for what Warren had done to him. It was the only explanation for the message. Sam’s name would now always cause Gene pain.

 

\---

 

One night, months later, when Sam had almost given up all hope of having a proper conversation with Gene ever again, there was a knock on the door of his flat. It was slow and hesitant, like the person knocking was screwing up their courage for something. Sam was surprised and immensely relieved to find Gene standing there, paler than he ought to be but solid and living and _real_.

 

Sam fixed them both a scotch and then returned to sit on his bed, while Gene made himself comfortable in an armchair. There was a silence, before Gene started to talk. And out it all came, more details than Sam had ever wanted to know, every moment of that hellish week accounted for. And then:

 

“This thing…” With his good arm Gene gestured to the deep diagonal cut on his chest – more or less healed by now - which had been swathed in bandages. “There’s a reason it goes over my heart. Warren threatened to cut it out altogether but I persuaded him that he didn’t want to kill me; after all, it would be worse for you to see me wither away slowly than gone in a flash. He… seemed to like that idea, the sick fuck. He said that if he couldn’t cut you out of me, he’d just have to cut you _into_ me.”

 

Gene fell silent. Sam sat with his mouth hanging open, unable to process all this new information. For the first time in a long while, Gene stared him down, chin raised defiantly. At last he gave a little shrug and said “So now you know.”


End file.
